


Like a bomb

by BlazeRiddle



Series: Practice [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aggressive John, But everything works out in the end, Confused Sherlock, Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, PWP, Post Season 3, Virgin Sherlock, sort of, there is plot if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 13:30:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3210881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlazeRiddle/pseuds/BlazeRiddle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After John has returned to Baker Street, he has become more and more tense. Sherlock is waiting for the bomb to burst.</p><p>((The first sentence popped into my head one time, and it grew from there... Whoops.))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a bomb

It was like a bomb exploding.

Sherlock had expected it, of course, had seen the pressure slowly building inside the army doctor like it would inside a pressure cooker, the anger and betrayal and sexual frustration all coming together and building until the normally tranquil man exploded.

Sherlock wasn't really surprised. After everything, after he himself had betrayed the man by jumping off a rooftop and pretending to be dead for years, after his wife turned out to be a liar, after the baby turned out to be a fluke and Mary's loyalty as fake as her last name, John had every right to be angry, had the right to feel betrayed. And the sexual frustration, well... Sherlock could see there hadn't been any since the wedding night. Of course not, John wouldn't want to tire the barer of his child.

So, Sherlock had expected it. He had seen in coming in the harsh set of his shoulders, the more frequent irritated sighs, the slamming of the fridge door. He hadn't expected _this_ , though. He'd expected yelling, accusations, even physical violence, and he would've been fine with that. He would've been able to handle that, he had told himself, he wouldn't fight back. After everything he'd put him through, John deserved a few punches at him. That's what he expected to happen.

It happened after a case. There had been drugs trafficking involved, and John had been on edge the entire time. The climax involved a gun being pointed at them, at _Sherlock_ , and if John had been protective before, he was completely _lethal_ , now, and the assailant had been bleeding on the floor within moments.

John hadn't spoken on their way back to Baker Street. He'd spend the entire ride glaring out of the window, and Sherlock had been calculating when the blow would come. Surely this time it would.

Inside, John followed him up the stairs, silently radiating dark rage. Sherlock was getting slightly frightened. Surely, John's army training would allow him to do serious damage when he got furious like this. He just needed to remember to protect his head.

The moment he stepped inside the apartment, Sherlock found himself pressed face-first against the wall, John breathing heavily in his ear. The detective pressed his eyes closed in fear.

"You-" The man growled. Sherlock felt him pressing against him from his shoulders to his hips, John's manhood driving hard and big into the side of his buttocks. _Adrenaline_ , he reminded himself, _it's just the adrenaline._ He took a shuddering breath. Any moment now...

With a harsh pull, John turned him and threw him on the ground. The doctor towered over him, nothing but pure rage, and as Sherlock looked up at him, something clicked in his head.

_Anger. Sexual frustration. Anger, at him, and sexual frustration. He was hard right now._

_It would be_ perfect.

Sherlock scrambled to his knees, savouring the momentary glint of surprise lacing through the rage. Like this, he was at the perfect height.

John grabbed his shoulders with one hand, his hair with the other, reacting to a perceived attack.

Sherlock pressed forward, his nose right next to his target. John pulled his hair, the sensitive follicles screaming at him until there were tears in his eyes. He let out a small breath, suppressing the whimper that wanted to come out along with it. John groaned.

 _Come on,_ Sherlock told himself, _do it._ He moved his nose slightly to the right and was rewarded with another pull and groan. He mouthed over the bulge, licking it, and John harshly pressed his face into it. Sherlock managed the button and zip and silently marvelled at the strange use of his ability of escapology, but he didn't spend time thinking about it as his face was roughly shoved back against John's crotch. He licked and laved and fumbled as best as he could with John pulling his hair and shoving his head this way and that and using him as his personal rag doll, until John groaned and tightened his hand in Sherlock's hair painfully and something salty and biter leaked though the fabric of John's boxers and then John suddenly shoved him away, back down on the floor, and Sherlock stayed down as he heard the man retreat upstairs.

He waited, then stood and stumbled to his room, his own erection hard in his trousers. Unimportant. He closed the door behind him and lay down on his bed in his prayer pose.

He'd just given John a blow job. Possibly the worst on in history, but it was irrelevant. John had ejaculated because of his mouth. Sherlock frowned. _Research shows that sex is a great stress reliever_. Maybe he could do that, then. Let John have his way with him every once in a while, let him throw him around, end it all with the best stress reliever he knew. That would be all right. John would have an outlet for his anger, would be able to get rid of the rage he felt when he looked at Sherlock, and he's even get more out of it. Sherlock would be able, maybe, that the rage would turn into hate. He wouldn't stand it if John hated him. If John... left.

No. John would stay, Sherlock would make sure of it. John would be happy. That was all he wanted.

 

The next morning, both of them acted like nothing happened, though John avoided making eye contact the moment he came downstairs. They had breakfast like usual, and after, John went to work a shift at the A&E he'd started working at when he returned to Baker Street, and Sherlock spent the day preparing. Surely, John wouldn't be satisfied with a repetition of yesterday, for sure, so he researched proper techniques. He would've preferred experience, but this would have to do. Tonight, when John would come home from his job, worn out and stressed, he would be ready. He would have a plan.

When John came home, Sherlock had just placed a glass of whiskey near his chair and was hovering just out of sight, waiting until John had seated himself with a heavy sigh to appear and kneel between his legs. John had closed his eyes and tilted his head back, and Sherlock could be very silent, so the doctor didn't notice him until it was too late; Sherlock had his hand at his zipper when John's head shot up in surprise.

"Sher- Ah!" Sherlock had deftly unbuttoned his trousers and had wrapped his hand around his soft member, stroking it through his briefs. "Sherlock, what- oh!" John lost his ability for speech when Sherlock managed to pull out his cock and pressed a kiss to the very tip. _Yes,_ Sherlock thought, _If I had the choice, this is how it would be- this brief moment of shock, of tranquillity before the instincts, before the rage of before took over. This moment where it didn't seem to matter that he was a guy, that he wasn't..._ her _, this moment where the anger didn't exist. But it mustn't last too long._ Slowly, he licked up the bottom side, savouring the taste and sucking the head in after he swirled his tongue around it. _John must become happy_. He bobbed his head, taking in as much as he could before moving back a bit, sucking, and trying again. _Any moment now... Any moment now, he'll take over._ Above him, John moaned, a wonderful sound that warmed Sherlock's chest and vibrated down his spine. He repressed an answering groan and bobbed his head again, feeling John fill him, feeling him at the back of his throat. _This isn't about me_ , he reminded himself, as he started sucking and bobbing in earnest. _This is for him._ He clenched his fists on his thighs.

Soon, John was moaning and groaning above him, hips moving up with careful, stuttering thrusts, and Sherlock had closed his eyes because this was so much better than the day before, this was actually _nice_ and if they could just keep up like this-

John thrust up and hit the back of his throat and Sherlock felt a moan escape and then John was moaning, moaning, and Sherlock's mouth flooded with the salty taste of his semen and he swallowed around it, kept swallowing until it was gone and then licked John clean and pulled back, and then John scraped his throat and Sherlock looked up, slightly embarrassed.

 _Fuck, this didn't go as planned._ John stared at him for a moment and then suddenly bent down, hauled him up, planted him on his lap. There was a stern look in his eyes, a frown between them.

"What the _bloody hell_ was that?" He demanded, the steel in his eyes too much for Sherlock to look at, so he looked away. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock swallowed, the taste still lingering at the back of his tongue. "I-" _Shit. I need a back-up plan. Do I have a back-up plan?_

"Tell me the truth." John ordered, his voice softening a bit. "Why did you do that? _Twice_?"

Sherlock dared to look John into the eye and found no anger there. So, he wallowed again. _Honesty. I can do that_. "You were frustrated." He started. "I-" _Fuck, why is this so difficult?_ "You are angry. At me. Still. I don't blame you, after everything I've done you deserve to be. I'm an arse, and I've made my-"

"Just curious," John interrupted, "where is this going?" Sherlock frowned at him, but there still was no anger in his eyes. He swallowed again.

"You can take it out on me." He offered, nervous. "I- You want to. I wouldn't mind."

There was a long silence and eventually Sherlock dared a glace upwards. His eyes were smiling sadly.

"Oh, you always do get something wrong, don't you?" He asked, his voice not above a whisper, as if something was lodged in his throat. "I- Yesterday was a mistake. A big mistake. No-" He moved to grab Sherlock's jaw as his face fell, " _That_ part was... good. It was just wrong how it happened. I shouldn't have assaulted you. It shouldn't have happened that way." He smiled at the detective's confusion. "I'm not mad at you, Sherlock. Not anymore, not for a long time. I- was upset yesterday. I should've reigned myself in." John sighed. "If anyone's an arse, it's me."

Sherlock was still frowning. "It's... fine." He swayed a bit closer. "I... liked it, this way."

"Did you, now?" John moved closer, too, teasing.

"Yes." Sherlock glanced down at John's lips. "Can I-" He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the corner of John's briefly before moving back. John smiled.

"Yes." And he caught the detective's lips again.

And again,

And again.

After that, it was a slow burn.


End file.
